


I Know It May Seem Real

by BitterSnowflake



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Delusions, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Psychosis, psychotic symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterSnowflake/pseuds/BitterSnowflake
Summary: The reader is suffering from depression, anxiety and psychotic symptoms and Tom get's worried about her/him.
Kudos: 6





	I Know It May Seem Real

“[Your name], please, open up the door,” you heard Tom’s pleading voice say from the other side of the wooden barrier between you. Oh, sweet Tom, you thought to yourself. How wonderful of him not to give up on you, despite the fact that you had cancelled your planned meeting three times in a row now. You sat there with your back against your apartment door, and you truly were a mess. So was your apartment, which you were too afraid to leave.

You looked down at the kitchen knife in your hand. You had grabbed it as a means to defend yourself when the doorbell rang, in case it was someone dangerous trying to get in. But it was just Tom. Tom would never hurt you. Your hands were sticky from being covered with blood from your injured arm. You had a blood stained bandage sloppily wrapped around your injury and your clothes had blood stains on them as well. It was a bad day to wear a white top.

“[Your name], I can hear you’re in there. Please open the door. I’m really worried about you,” Tom said concernedly from the other side of the door. You still didn’t answer, hoping that he would just give up and go away. You couldn’t possibly let him see you like this. He would think you had gone insane. He wouldn’t understand. No one would.

“Please, open the door. I don’t want to have to call the police,” he said insistently. Your eyes widened at the mention of the police. He couldn’t possibly contact the police! That was ridiculous. You opened your mouth to object, but found yourself at a loss for words. It was as though you had forgotten how to speak.

“[Your name], I’m going to start counting now. If you don’t open the door by the time I get to ten, I’m going to call someone, because I’m truly worried about you. It’s not because I want to be mean, but because I really care about you,” Tom told you in a serious and authoritative voice which he rarely used. You could tell that he wasn’t playing around, he was dead serious.

“One… Two… Three…” he was counting a lot faster than you had anticipated, or at least it felt like he was counting unreasonably fast. You looked down at your bloody hands and injured arm, cringing at the sight. He would get so upset with you. “Four… Five… Six…” You realised that there was no way you would have the time to clean up before he reached the count of ten. You still couldn’t find your voice to object, to stop him from counting like a parent would to a child. “Seven… Eight… Nine…” You panicked and turned off the lights. In the dark you would be able to hide what you had done, the mess you had caused. “... Ten.” You reached up to the lock on your door and twisted it urgently. It made a clicking sound and you sunk down against the wall next to the door as it opened.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Tom wondered and instinctively turned the lights back on before you had the time to protest. You managed to find your voice again.

“Please, don’t look at me,” you begged him, but it was too late. You met his gaze and saw the concerned look in his eyes as he stared at you. He quickly shut the door before kneeling down in front of you to check on you.

“[Your name], you’re hurt. What happened?” he asked you concernedly and carefully took the knife out of your loose grip, placing it on the doormat next to him, just out of your reach. “Do you have a first aid kit?” he wondered and you nodded in response.

“In the bathroom,” you managed to say. Your mouth felt so impossibly dry, and you failed to recall when was the last time you had a glass of water. Tom nodded and got up on his feet, heading towards the bathroom. Your messy bathroom. He came back a moment later, carrying the first aid kit, a bucket of water and a towel. Resuming his seat in front of you, he began to slowly unwrap the bandage around your left wrist. He didn’t say anything as he assessed the damage and proceeded to clean the wound. It amazed you. You had expected him to admonish you for having hurt yourself like this, but he didn’t. He calmly put a fresh gauze pad against your wound to stop the bleeding and wrapped a new bandage around your wrist, tightly, but not too tightly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said once the bandage was in place and carefully grabbed your left hand, lowering it into the bucket of water before drying it off with the towel. He repeated the action with your right hand and proceeded to wash away the blood stains from your bare arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tom asked in a gentle voice when he was done cleaning you up. You shrugged in response and looked at him with desperation in your eyes. You truly didn’t know what to do.

“I…” you said hesitantly. You felt so scared, but you were too afraid to say why. You didn’t want Tom to think you were insane. As you thought about it, you began to wonder if you truly had lost your mind. “I can’t make it stop,” you said helplessly.

“Make what stop?” Tom wondered and sat down next to you with his back against the wall. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close towards him.

“I can hear… I can hear people talking about me all the time when I’m outside. I’m being followed by someone, and I think someone’s watching me, even when I’m home alone. They’re probably listening too, Tom. I don’t know what to do,” you tried to explain. The last few days had been truly horrifying. You had never been so scared before in your life. But now Tom was there to protect you.

“Is that why all the curtains are closed in the middle of the day? So they won’t be able to see you?” Tom asked and you nodded eagerly at him. “Do you think someone is listening to us right now?” You nodded again in response. “That must be truly terrifying,” he told you sympathetically and you nodded in agreement. It was terrifying.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” you told him in a whisper and rested your tired head against his shoulder.

“I don’t know either, but I know there are people who do,” Tom told you with a sad smile. “Would you like to come with me and see someone who knows what to do?” he offered.

“I’m too scared to leave,” you told him dejectedly. “I’m not insane, Tom. Please, believe me.”

“I don’t think you’re insane, [your name],” Tom assured you. “But I do think you need help.”

“Don’t call the police,” you told him urgently. “I don’t think we can trust them.”

“I won’t call the police,” he promised. “But I do want you to come with me. There are professionals working with those kinds of things every day. Let’s ask them for advice.”

“What kind of professionals?” you asked him skeptically.

“Mental health professionals,” Tom clarified and your hurt sunk.

“I told you I’m not insane,” you said frustratedly and sat back up straight to glare at him.

“I don’t think you are insane,” he reassured you. “But you need help.”

“I don’t know, Tom,” you told him dejectedly. It was all so confusing. You were exhausted from being on edge all the time and you had barely slept for days.

“I’ll be with you for as long as you need me to, and I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Tom said solemnly. You looked into his honest, piercing blue eyes and knew he was telling the truth. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.

“Okay,” you agreed after a moment’s thought. You were truly desperate to make it all stop. It couldn’t hurt to try Tom’s way, now could it? After all, he was the most reasonable person you knew. He was trustworthy and loyal. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.

“Let’s get you into some clean clothes,” Tom said and went to your bedroom to get some clothes for you. You remained on the floor in the entrance hall and waited for him to come back. He respectfully turned away to give you some privacy as you got changed into clean clothes. You should probably have showered too, but you didn’t feel comfortable staying naked for more than absolutely necessary in case someone was indeed watching you.

“Are you ready to go?” Tom asked after you had put on your jacket and shoes. You were wearing your hood up and sunglasses to protect your eyes from being gazed into by strangers that might be able to read your thoughts if they did. You realised that all those ideas might sound strange to some people, but it all felt so real. Too real to not be true.

Tom offered you his hand and you grabbed it, tightly.

“Please don’t let me go,” you pleaded and he nodded solemnly at you.

“I won’t,” he told you seriously. “You’re safe with me.”

You left your apartment building together and he drove to the psychiatric emergency room, holding your hand all the way there. He stayed true to his word and didn’t let go of you as you entered the building together. You felt relieved. He was your anchor, preventing you from drifting too far away from reality. His hand felt real. More real than everything going on around you and inside of you.

You felt a lump in your throat and tried to avoid looking at the people spread out in the emergency room. You found a wooden bench to sit on together and you leaned your head against Tom’s shoulder for comfort. You were still holding hands and you smiled weakly as Tom interlaced your fingers.

“They’re talking about me,” you whispered into his ear after a moment. You had heard someone you didn’t know speak your name. Another person mentioned sunglasses and a third said something about a green jacket, which you were wearing. Everything you heard seemed to be a description of you. It couldn't possibly be about somebody else. They were talking about you. Watching you. Scrutinizing you. They wanted to hurt you.

“Who?” Tom asked with a frown and glanced at the people in the room.

“They’re all talking about me. Can’t you hear?” you whispered to him. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head at you. “I know it may seem real, but I don’t think it is. I can’t hear anyone here talking about you.”

“But they are,” you insisted. “I heard them.”

Tom looked at you concernedly and pulled out his phone along with a pair of earbuds.

“How about you try listening to some music instead?” he suggested helpfully.

“Okay,” you agreed and put the earbuds in place while he put on some music for you. You shut your eyes and rested your head against his shoulder again, losing yourself within the music, shutting out the world around you. You felt Tom kiss the top of your head lightly and relaxed your shoulders a little. They were aching from having been so tense lately. Your whole body was in fact aching, your mouth was dry and you felt so infinitely tired. Despite the depressing environment you were currently in, you felt more relaxed now than you had been for days. It was all thanks to Tom. You could trust him. He would keep you safe. You even dozed off against his shoulder and was gently woken up by him. You pulled out the earbuds and looked at him expectantly.

“A nurse wants to talk to you about why you’re here,” Tom informed you in a gentle voice.

“Why am I here?” you asked him.

“Because you want help with making it stop,” he reminded you. “Would you like me to come with you, or should I wait here?” he wondered.

“Don’t you dare let go of my hand,” you warned him, feeling a bit desperate. “I still need you,” you added, causing him to nod and smile warmly at you.

“And I’m here for you,” he assured you and you believed him. With Tom by your side, you found the courage to take the step of seeking professional help for your problems. You were still afraid, but instead of weak, you felt brave as you entered the small examination room together with Tom and a psychiatric nurse. You would get through this.


End file.
